Lucky opens with a confident pulse, around mid-tempo hip‑hop (hovering 90–100 BPM), that immediately wraps you in a laid-back groove. The percussion is crisp, not flashy, giving Haviah room to glide over the beat with measured precision.

Haviah Mighty’s verses hit with sharp, introspective lyricism. She contrasts moments of gratitude with flashes of vulnerability, when she says she’s “lucky” you sense it’s not just boasting, it’s guarded hope. There’s an undercurrent of self‑aware grit: you get the sense she’s familiar with struggle, aware of how fortune and effort intersect.

Shantel May enters on the chorus with a softer melodic tone, balancing the strong rap vocal with breathier emotion. The repetition of “I’m lucky” turns into a mantra, simple but effective and each time she sings it you feel the weight of the phrase, hopeful, wary, yet sincere.

The production plays with space, distant synth pads, a steady bassline, and occasional vinyl crackle or ambient noise crafting a mood that’s sleek and intimate. The instrumentation never overwhelms the lyrics, instead it accents them with minimalistic finesse.

The bridge slows things slightly, allowing a moment of reflection. Haviah’s words soften, rhythm loosens, and it feels like a quiet beat in the storm. Then the final chorus returns with renewed energy, a subtle uplift that suggests acceptance rather than resignation.

Why this stands out: Lucky isn’t just about being grateful, it’s a meditation on survival, identity, and cautious optimism. There’s sass and softness both. Haviah’s confidence never eclipses her humanity. And Shantel May’s chorus makes that duality sing, so that “I’m lucky” becomes both affirmation and question.

Check for Shantel May on IG: @shantelmay

Check for Haviah Mighty on IG: @haviahmighty

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